Miss Independent
by I'veMadeItMyOTP
Summary: Alaska is a headstrong, foul-mouthed, pint-sized beast. Her weakness? The North America brothers! Now stuck between becoming a state, and going back to Mother Russia, will she be able to survive life with these strange people?
1. Alaska's Badass Introduction

Hello, there. I'm Alaska, an American state. But most people call me Bianca, because, well, that's my name. I know, extremely too girly for me. Anyway, this is this story of how I fell in love. It started right after Mr. Russia put me up for sale...

* * *

I shivered feverishly as I trudged on the same way I'd been walking for days. With a full knapsack and a heavy heart, my baggage was almost too much for my weak and skinny legs to bear.

A fresh roll of thunder roared above me, a lighting bolt followed it promptly. I knew I should've stopped somewhere and waited until the storm passed, but, of course, I was too stubborn. I sighed and stared around.

There were a few houses- no, more like cottages- scattered here and there. But as I went on, they became closer and more frequent, and now, small shops were starting to appear.

My brow furrowed in confusion as a few extremely tall buildings rose above the two-story houses.

Those were unusually tall for me at the time, I hadn't really been exposed to skyscrapers yet. "What the bloody hell...?" I mumbled. "Kind of strangeness is that?" Candles lit up the small windows of a small pub, giving it an eerie kind of warmth.

I guess I wasn't really paying attention because I walked straight into a metal pole and toppled over onto the wet ground. The contents of my bag spilled out, including my silver Revolver.

"Dammit," I hissed, hastily trying to gather up my things. "Why do I have to be so clumsy?" I pushed my sopping hair out of my eyes and sniffled. It was because of my stupid temper and potty mouth. That's why Russia was selling me.

"Hey," a voice sounded from above. "Do you need any help?" I looked up and my jaw dropped. The guy was drop dead gorgeous! He a kind face, blue eyes, blonde(and this cute little curl on the top of his head), and a gentle voice.

Still, I defiantly said,"I can take care of myself, thankyouverymuch." But I couldn't help the fact that I couldn't seem to tear my eyes away from him.

"S-So what's your name?" He stuttered. I scowled. I was _supposed _to be Alaska. Miss I-won't-take-that-mess-so-you-can-stick-it-up-your -ass Alaska! But here I was going all dewey eyed school girl over a cute guy!

"Bianca," I answered. "But it's Alaska to you." Despite my rudeness, he just smiled and said,"My name's Matthew, or some people call me Canada. Nice to meet you, Alaska!" I looked up. The rain had abruptly stopped and the dark clouds were drifting apart.

I turned back to Canada,"Nice to meet 'cha, Mattie." Stretched over to grab a picture of my mother. She died a few years back. "Is that your mom?" Matt asked me, curiously. I stared into my mother's happy face.

"Well..." I struggled with my words. "Yeah... Sh-she's gone now..." Maybe a bit too enthusiastically, Mattie exclaimed,"My mom's dead too!" I shot him an aren't-you-a-doofus glare.

"Right," he nodded bashfully and blushed. "You're sure you don't need any help?" I shook my head as if I were irritated. Then, he shrugged and walked away. After his seventh step, I called out to him.

"Wait!" He turned around and cocked his head to the side. "You _could _offer me a place to stay," I said as if it was the most normal statement for someone you just met.

"Oh, sure!" He smiled. This guy was a complete lunatic. "You can stay at my place for a few days. I don't mind." I smirked,"Good, because I was gonna come no matter what."

Matt chuckled,"You know, I like you." The warmth crept up my cheeks and rose to my forehead so that my whole face was red. "Rule Number One: don't say things like that," I said plainly. "I hate feeling loved."

"Well, if you hate feeling loved," Matthew started smartly. "You haven't been loved yet." I blinked and drew myself to full height. Matt stared at me. I knew he was marveling at my shortness. I had been 4'8 since I was ten. I'm now eighteen.

With my backpack securely mounted on my back and my heart less heavy, I was ready to go. "I live just down the road," Matt said, gesturing forward. "Ready?"

I snarled irritably,"No need to make this symbolic. Let's just go." And with my final word we started our trek. The thing Canada neglected to tell me: In Canada, 'down the road', meant two miles.


	2. Alaska Hates Stairs

**Now, it's time for you to meet me! I'm Mikayla, the author of this story. So, yeah... That's me... Oh yeah! I forgot to tell you what the song was for last chapter! Well, since it's based off of the song, it's Miss Independent, by Kelly Clarkson.**

* * *

Canada. He's got a strange aura about him. I didn't know what it was, but something seems so off-handishly nice. I mean, what kind of person lets a total stranger into his house and tells them that they haven't loved the right way?

Rapists. Creepy rapists. That's who. Look at me, I'm the full package! I've got everything except long legs(Why couldn't you bless me with long legs, God? Why?). No wonder people want to rape me! I'm _pretty _sexy...

But then again(Now the sane part of me is talking), Matthew's probably just a nice person who doesn't want to do anything indecent. And if he did, wouldn't he look more, y'now, creepy?

I looked over at Matthew with uncertainty. He didn't look weird. Well, except when he talked about those damned maple trees. Now _that _was weird.

"Hey, Mattie," I said with a scowl and a gruff glare. "Where, exactly, do you live?" Mat just smiled and looked at me thoughtfully. "Just down the road," he stated happily. I was just about to reach my boiling point and that stupid laidback tone was _not _helping it. At all.

"You fucking said that thirty fucking minutes ago!" I shrieked, squeezing my eyes shut. "Now, when the hell are we going to get to this so-called house of yours?" Canada smirked,"Right now."

* * *

My jaw instantly dropped as I gaped up at the three story mansion_(_and yes, I'm saying mansion brcause that's _literally _what it was). It was gorgeous! I mean, besides the flowers arranged to spell out 'sugar maple', the place was perfect.

It was painted a vibrant peach color, and it had miniature turrets, each topped with a slightly off center weathervane. "Where the..." I stuttered. "How the... What the..." Canada said, blushing slightly,"I know that it's not much, but it's home."

Without another glance or word, he gently pulled me towards the door by my arm. I felt the need to protest, but I didn't bother. I'd been protesting all day. As we stepped inside with just a soft push on the door, I asked curiously,"Why do you keep your door unlocked? I mean, what if there was a robber?"

"My door is unlocked because in Canada," he winked. "The crime rate is extremely low. That and I never get visitors except for my brother." I frowned,"Lyuboy..."

I looked around at the bare seemed way too dull for a guy like Matthew. When I thought of Matt, colors like red, green, or even violet jumped out at me; but definately not this boring, gun metal, gray. And I noticed that he looked more solemn while in here, or at least not as cheerful as usual.

"C'mon," Canada waved me over. "I'll show you your room." I stared at him blankly and extended my arms. "I don't feel like walking anymore," I said dreamily. "Carry me." Matt chuckled for a moment, then realized I wasn't joking, and gave me an are-you-serious kind of questioning look. I gave him an I'm-serious-as-a-heart-attack look.

He sighed as I jumped on his back easily. "Okay, I'm ready," I said happily. Matt started up the creaky, wooden stairs with me in tow, humming animatedly. Once up the stairs(I swear there were fifty, not that I was doing any work.), Matt showed me to this really dark room in the very back of the long hallway.

I jumped off of his back and stepped inside the room. It was completely white and looked as if no one had been in there for years. A lone bookshelf stood in the corner with only seven books filling it. In the center of the room was a full-sized bed with an old patchwork quilt covering it.

I stood still. I was fine with the emptiness, pff, that's how my room was in Russia. But this place was way to dark and dank for me. "Canada," I croaked, fearfully. "I can't stay in here, you bastard!" Matt walked in and stood next to me. "What's wrong with this place?" He asked me quizzically, raising an eyebrow.

"First of all, it's way too dark. Second of all, IT'S _FREEZING_!"

"But don't you need it to be dark to sleep?"

"Th-That's... I can't..."

"Why?"

"B-Because... I'm afraid o-of the dark... I was sleeping when they killed my mother..."

"Oh, I'm sorry I asked. It was none of my business."

"No. I'm glad I got it off my chest. I can kill you later. But as I was saying, I can't sleep in here."

"How about you take my room, and I'll sleep in here?"

"Sure. Night."

"Night."

* * *

I don't remember feeling better than that in a while. I usually don't talk to people about my mom. Maybe it was just Matt, and that strange aura. Or, I could've been way too tired to keep my guard up. All I knew was that if he told anyone about that, he'd die. I'd kill him after I kill myself.

That night, I fell asleep, okay? Well, the strange thing about that is, I don't have dreams. And if I do, I dream and being on the warfront, with a huge AK(I want one for Christmas.). But my dream was girly. Weird, right? I had a dream that I was a princess. And Mattie. Mattie was my prince. Dear, Lord...


	3. Waking Up Next To Canada

**Hey, again! I wanna dedicate this next chapter to my friend Taylor because she just started reading this story 3 3 And, once again, I have forgotten to tell you what the song for last chapter was! GAH! The song is 'What The Hell' by Avril Lavigne because of the mental toll Bianca is starting to take on Matthew.**

* * *

I sighed dreamily as I drifted over and back across the thin line seperating reality and my rare dream. "Sweet... You really got this AK for me...? You... Are... So... Fucking... Cute... Oh, Matthew..." Continuing my mindless ramblings, I felt my arms wrap around something solid... Yet squishy...?

"What the actual fuck- Who the...?" I felt around, my eyes still closed. A nose... Mouth... Eyes...? Crap. A rapist! I removed my arms distractedly, beginning a process my father taught when found in the event that you wake up with someone you didn't go to sleep with. Turning on my side and breathing heavily, I groped for my Revolver.

Finally locating it, in one swift move, I gripped it tightly and pressed it to the offender's temple. "Who are you and why are you here, bastard?" I whispered hurriedly. "Answer me or I blow your brains out. Answer me, _now, _filthy swine pervert!" By then, I had starddled my subject and opened my eyes.

I groaned in anger. I knew that dirty blonde hair... That Canadian jackass! "CANADA!" I screamed as I discarded my gun after setting it to safety. "YOU CANIVING MOTHERFUCKER! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN HERE!?"

I felt him tremble under me as he shielded his face from my wild blows to every inch of his body I could reach. "I w-was sleeping!" he whimpered. "P-Please don't hurt me! P-Please!" My eyes turned bright green like they always did when I was angry. "WELL I WAS TOO, Y'KNOW, RIGHT BEFORE YOU FUCKING SCARED THE HELL OUTTA ME!" I shouted through gritted teeth.

My face a bright crimson as my yells died down, my eyes slowly retuning to their original sapphire blue. I frowned and glared down on Canada. _Okay. Just breath, Bianca. Hear his part of the story before you murder. You can't go back to therapy... _"Look, just tell me what the fu- hell happened and no one gets hurt," I said as patiently as I could.

"Uh... Okay," Canada said shakily. "But... Um, could you please get off me? You're sitting on my stomach, eh." I felt my face burn with embaressment. _Well, who's the rapist now? _In record speed, I moved to the opposite side of the bed.

"Proceed," I sighed, crossing my arms over my chest. "I've decided that I'll hear your side of the story. Choose your words wisely. If I don't hear, what I _want _to hear, you. Will. Die." I ran my hands through my hair, pulling it into a low ponytail and letting it fall over my shoulder.

Canada sat up and rubbed his head, as if wary of the fact he was still here. "Well, darn, I don't really remember much," he said in that stupid(but terribly cute) whisper of his. I shot him a death glare, urging him to go on. "O-Okay, well let's see... I was sleeping... Then Kumakachi pushed me out of bed! And I came down here, 'cause I forgot _you _were here."

I drew a poker face to hide my weakness to him and said,"Fine. It's acceptable. But one question: Who's Kumakachi?" Canada shrugged,"Just my polar bear. He never remembers my name though, most people don't." I felt a spark of interest when I heard polar bear. I had a polar bear. She was my best friend.

"I've got a polar bear back home," I said as I drew circles on my thigh with my unusually long nails. "In Alaska. Her name's Momma." Suddenly, my face fell again, remembering that I never got the chance to say goodbye to her. To scratch that special place behind her ear and make her purr with excitement. I missed Alaska.

I shook my head. I'd be there again someday. Somehow. "Why don't you go make me some breakfast? You got nothing better to do," I demanded lightly. "I-I'll be down in a second."

* * *

I bounded down the stairs, fanning myself. How _hot _was it in here? I walked shuggishly to the kitchen where Canada was standing in front of the stove, flipping these flat things in a pan. I leaned against the wall and crossed my arms. "Hey, Canada," I called.

He looked my way and smiled slightly. "You're just in time," he stated placing two of the flat things on a plate and handing it to me. "Can't forget the maple syrup!" He drizzled some of this thick stuff on them. "What on God's green earth is this?" I asked, a hint of aggrivation sprinkling my voice.

"Pancakes and maple syrup," Matt said, excitedly. I stared at him.

"I hate these."

"Have you even tried them?"

"No, but they look- What the-!" Before I knew it, he was stuffing a small portion of pancake in my mouth. "What was that for, you ass-" I raged. But then I stopped. What the hell was this beautiful concoction that my dear friend Canada had made? Was he a cooking god? It was a pancake, a God-sent delicacy.

I glared at him. "Well, stop staring at me like a complete _durak_!" I said, my mouth full. "Make me more of these... _Pancakes_!"

* * *

"So," Canada asked me later that day. "D'you know who you're supposed to find or whatever?" I thought about it for a second. Russia did always threaten to send me to this guy... He sounded really annoying. I didn't know. I was still high on pancakes.

"Well," I answered thoughtfully. "There's this America guy... Blonde, obnoxious, blue eyes... Sorta looks like you? Know him?" Matthew cringed. "I-I might..."

"Well, he sounds like a complete dick y'know... For once I finally understand why Russia wants to crush him."

"He can be kind of... Strange... And obnoxious... Sometimes..."

"I don't really have any plans to find him or anything. I think I'll be fine, though. Maybe I can go back to being an independent nation again. I missed that."

"That's nice..."

"You seem tense. Anything bothering you?"

"Yeah... America's my brother..."


	4. Alaska And DAT SIGH

"I hate you," I said to Canada. I was sitting in the passenger seat of Canada's car(yes, he has a car. He just hates to drive 'cause of gas fumes and pollution or some shit like that. Went on a ten minute rant about it. Totally missed most if it), clutching my dad's old knapsack that housed all of my needs to survive.

Except my Revolver. Old Lucy's tucked in my holster, hanging at my hip, ready for action. Ready for some serious shit to go down.

With a sad and sorrowful sigh(I swear to God, that sigh could kill a whole country) Canada asked,"Why?" He looked so troubled. Like he was the most miserably person in the world. Because of this, it made it so hard for me to say these words. "You're related to a burger-fiend psycho and you're probably a nutjob yourself," I remarked, with a smirk.

He weakly smiled and said disappointedly,"Sorry." Well, now I feel like a jerk. Canada's so fragile and limp and crap. And I'm all, _not _gentle and crap. And did I mention that sigh? That sigh could shatter my heart into a million tiny pieces. I wanted to punch him for that.

I rolled my eyes like I didn't care. "C'mon," I said, flipping my hair(it's a habit). "You're not leaving me just yet. If this guy is even douche-ier than he sounds... I'll kill you. And steal your house." I climb out of the car and slam the door behind me, and continued,"Okay, where's this American idiot live?" Canada seemed to magically appear beside me, making me just when he said,"Right there."

I guess I was kind of disappointed that it was just this random condo in the middle of a tiny suburban street with others basically identical to it just meters away from it. I mean, Canada's got a whole _estate. _I didn't realize these Americans were so broke. Kinda reminds me of Russia. Without all the snow. And this place has palm trees. Where're the empty vodka bottles?

I slung my backpack over my shoulder and crossed my arms. "What a wonderful day," I scoffed, yanking Matt's arm and dragging him with me. "You sure are flimsy for a nineteen year old... I could just snap your arms off... Don't give me any reason to." I chuckled. Which is the moment that I realized I have a weird sense of humor.

Like a young daughter clinging to her father, I held on to Matt tightly. I didn't want him to go. But it all ended when I heard that voice. _That retarded American's voice._

"Hey, bro! Long time, no s- Where'd you get a chick from?"

I rolled my eyes,"This 'chick' has a name, ya douche." I scowled and took a look at that idiotic face. Trying to steal me away from _my _Canada. I do not fucking think so, biatch. "Heh... She's quite the kidder, isn't she?" Canada said nervously. Still, that dazzling grin was still plastered to America's face.

"Anyway, this is Alaska... She's... Interesting... She stayed at my house last night." America nodded and then raised an eyebrow as if surprised. "Dude!" he exclaimed, excitedly. "You're not a virgin anymore! My little bro's a sex fiend!" Matt slumped,"It's not at _all_ what you think, America."

"Dude, I totally get it. It's fine, Canadia."

"No-! That's not how it sounds! And my name is _not _Canadia! I just found her on the street-"

"Whoa, that's a pretty sleazy approach, but okay. Whatever floats your boat."

"_I hold my virginity very close to my heart."_

This is stupid. This is completely and utterly, fucking nonsensical. It's probably the fact that I'm smarter than both of these dumbasses combined. So, all I could do was laugh, naturally. And that it just what I did. Besides leaving Russia, I believe that laughing was one of the best decisions of my life.

"Oh, God, this is priceless!" I laughed. "Sounds like something right out of a sitcom! Oh, God, I can't stop laughing!" It took me a moment to realize that I was only one laughing. "_V chem problema_?" I said, expectantly. "_Chto_? It's funny. _Lyuboy._"

"Dude, I have no idea what you just said," America said, his smile growing brighter and wider. "But I like you."

* * *

**Hey, my little Micronations! Hope you like this chapter, and don't forget to review, follow, and favorite! And what do you guys think Alaska's voice sounds like? Post it in the reviews por favor! BYE!**


	5. Alaska Loves I Mean Hates America

**Hi! SO... I've been thinking, and I might give Bianca(or Alaska) an advice type thing. And that's gonna be separate from this story. BUT, I want you people to come up with some general questions, or advice questions(though Alaska would probably mess up your life more...), and you can send her stuff too. So, for these a few weeks(and I'll accept late ones), you can send questions for Alaska through PM or review. It probably won't go up until after this story's over... so yeah... That cool?**

* * *

You know what's worse than ripping you eyeballs out and putting them in a pizza oven? Living with America. I mean, it's not that he's a bad person, he's just annoying as hell. No, he's even worse than that, he's as annoying as The Marvelous Breadfish. Worse, Annoying Orange.

And I know that I should at least try to be nice, but c'mon, it's in my fuckin' nature to be bitter. Besides my instinct, he just... He's amazingly stupid, and lazy, and naïve. These are not good days for me. Why can't he be like Canada? He's already handsome. I mean, not that I think he's handsome. Um... He's just... Not painful to look at. NOT THAT I LOOK AT HIM THAT MUCH! I just mean-GAH! Moving on...

_A_nyway, all he'd really have to do is just be less... America. Then, I'd consider becoming a state. He'd still be revolting. Just, less revolting. But, instead of just listing the negatives, I have to look at the positive(that's what they told me in therapy).

First off, America has a pretty good taste in music. I mean, besides the fact that he doesn't have any Madonna or Simple Minds, or any eighties music for that matter, he's got a good ear. We bonded over Message in a Bottle by The Police the other day. That and pretty much everything else by them, like Walking on the Moon, and it made me hate him less. Only, like, a little bit less though.

Then there's this really cute thing he does. And I don't think it's cute, I just think it's... Cute. Don't judge me. I'll shoot you. Anyway, I noticed that every morning, he'll try to smooth that weird looking curl(Nantucket, as he calls it) down, but it just sticks right back up in the end. It's adorable. Shut up. Stop laughing. It's not fucking funny.

But either way, I hate him more than I like him. Then again, hate does run through my veins 24/7. If I were a nicer person I'd like him. But I'm not. So I don't like him. He doesn't need that ego of his to get bigger.

There are some nights that he's less annoying. Especially when there's a thunderstorm. For some reason, he just gets quiet, and sits by the window, just watching. That's a weird hobby to have, if you're something-yes, I mean something- like America. Maybe it means something to him. I'll venture into that someday, but not today. I hate him too much today.

* * *

I wake up to the smell of coffee and bacon, America nudging me with a spatula. "Hey!" he said loudly. He wasn't wearing his glasses. He looked so different. "Want some _bacon_?" The way he says bacon makes me not want to say yes. Involuntarily, I nod my head yes.

I don't even know what happened next. All I knew was I was sitting in America's car. Oh my God! Did he drug me? It's official! HE'S FUCKING INSANE! I knew it, I knew it. I should've shot him. Shit. Where the fuck is he even taking me?! And how did I get dressed?! What the fucking fuck is this?!

As soon as I realize what might be going on, I grope myself for my gun. _I need to shoot this bitch before this gets too insane, _I thought. Now hyperventilating, I shrieked,"RIGHT NOW! _TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON! AND WHERE IS MY GUN?!_" Even though my voice is so strong, I'm about to cry on the inside. My gun, the picture of my mom and dad. I need them.

"Dude, dude, calm down!" America said slowly. "Your bag is right there! And-" I glare at him plainly. "Roll down the window," I say, anger boiling in my chest. "Roll down the window, and pull over." With a groan, he obliges. I take my seatbelt off and lean out if the window. "HE'S RAPING ME!"


End file.
